Another Day, Another War
by A Writer for Hire
Summary: After 10 years of fighting for Keron, the Keroro Platoon has returned to Pekopan. When they arrive though, they discover secrets that link the current invasion of Earth to the war on Keron...
1. Prologue

**P R O L O G U E**  
"It is revealed by a suspicious article from a suspicious anonymous source that nine out of ten suspicious figures are in some sort of suspicious secret alliance with another suspicious figure."  
-- The Intergalactic Inquirer, Issue# 12,345,678,987,654,321

* * *

They met at the ship's deck, and they sat at the table set for them beforehand. There was no one else near their meeting area as the Grand Commander had ordered. No surveillance cameras were in sight, no microphones were hidden in the walls. The most loyal guards of the imperial army were posted outside, and were ordered to shoot anyone who attempted to enter the room by force. This was a top-secret meeting, and only a few lucky ones knew about it.

The Grand Commander sat across from the Ambassador, as his kind liked to call him, and watched as he ate one of the many fruits laid out on the table for mere decoration and form. The Grand Commander hissed in irritation. "You have not answered my question," he snarled.

The Ambassador looked up at the Grand Commander, as he was a great deal shorter than him, and said, "Well, if you insist, old friend. Progress on the war has been wonderful, of course. I kept my end of the bargain and got what you wanted me to. It should be delivered to you soon enough by a trusted officer of mine."

The Grand Commander leaned back in his chair, glaring at the Ambassador who was calmly popping some more fruits into his mouth. "Who?" he demanded.

The Ambassador shrugged, his mouth full. He chewed slowly, and then swallowed. "I can't tell you," he said after a moment's pause. "Security reasons, you understand. I can't have you take the item by force and leave me with the bad end of the deal."

"I need to know if I can trust him."

"Well, you can. If you don't, you can shoot him and then take the item. Either way is fine."

The Grand Commander paused, considering the offer. "I see. And where will I meet him?"

"I'll let you know when I work out the details." The Ambassador gave a satisfied sigh. "Where did you get these fruits, Commander? They're simply sublime."

"Has there been any trouble?" the Grand Commander said, ignoring the question.

The Ambassador paused. "Maybe," he said slowly. "But rest assured, if it does come up, I know how to deal with it. The fear of death is a great motivator at times." He got off his chair and walked over to the deck's giant window, and stared down at the blue planet beneath him. "Hmm, I trust that your work with the Pekopanjins are going well?"

The Grand Commander scowled. "It's coming along slowly. They are a surprisingly hardy race."

"I see," said the Ambassador. "Well, I'll be going now. Take care of yourself, old friend."

The Grand Commander watched as the small alien took his leave and scoffed to himself. He was a pompous fool, that one, but he was dangerous as well. He tapped his long fingers on the table, and murmured to himself, "You always have to cut the loose ends sooner or later."

The Grand Commander tapped on the radio on his wrist and said, "General?"

A crackle of static. Then: "Yes, sir?"

"When the Ambassador's man hands over the item, kill him. Then schedule another meeting with the Ambassador. When he comes, kill him as well."

"Understood sir."

The Grand Commander switched off his radio and leaned forward, hands folded together as he glared at the door, his mind whirring with a new plan...


	2. Chapter One: Front Lines

**C H A P T E R  
O N E :**  
**Front Lines**

"During this war, there have been many heroic Platoons, as well as some not-so-heroic ones. One of the most notable, and questionable, of Platoons is the Keroro Platoon, who has proven their awesome skills in the battlefield. Though they are acknowledged as one of the best teams in active service, there are many rumors about them and their relationship with the Pekopanjins, residents of the planet Pekopan, who they were to invade. The Keron Army has refused to give out any information regarding the Pekopan mission and stoutly states that none of their officers have ever been engaging in a friendly relationship with an enemy race, and that they never will."  
-- Inkoko, War and Snuff

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Morning came slowly to the dry mess of an ecosystem that the Kerons called Diriri Desert. Its desolate landscape was forbidding and intimidating, and the fierce heat and unusual aridness of the area was best described as unsettling. There was a long ago legend told by the locals living on the desert's outskirts that a tribe of greedy Kerons had lived there. They took everything they could find, and had even dared to venture into the palace of the gods to steal the treasure hidden there. It was then that some forgotten Keron god had become angry at them, and smote their beautiful land as punishment for stealing his precious staff. Since then it had remained dry and hot, a smoldering wasteland for any Kerons who dared to venture into it.

The messenger knew all this, but he didn't care. Running for one's life could do that to a person.

The messenger, a tadpole no more than eighteen or so, ran as fast as he could, screaming at the top of his lungs. He could feel the muted thuds and rattles of every footstep that the metal monster made behind him, and he could hear the deafening screech of its rusty jaws.

It had appeared out of nowhere, while he had been heading back to HQ to deliver an important message. It was definitely something one of the rebels had built, as it bore the mark of the enemy general. When it had risen out of the sand dunes like some ancient dragon, the messenger had only stared at it, frozen with fear. It was only when it fired a missile at him that the poor messenger regained his senses and fled.

At first it had seemed like he had lost it. But it wasn't keen on letting such an important message getting away and gave chase, intent on killing him.

Missiles exploded all around the messenger, sending showers of sand into the air. He kept running, blind with terror, and stumbled over his own feet. He jumped up and suddenly felt a _woosh_ of cold air wash over him. He looked up, eyes wide, just in time to see a giant foot coming down on him.

"TAMAMA IMPACT!"

There was a roar of energy and explosions, and the machine's foot jerked. With a whining creak the entire war machine fell over. The messenger stood there, mouth gaping wide as a dark-skinned Keron landed in front of him in a battle stance.

"I got him, desu!" the Keron chirped.

The messenger blinked, tears of gratefulness streaming down his cheeks when _wham_, they were knocked off their feet. The machine had risen again, an angry whine in its voice as it stood up.

It was met with dozens of small explosions. The machine swiveled its head around, its lenses zooming in on a red figure circling it with a wing-pack. The messenger squinted, then realized that it was another Keron soldier.

The red soldier moved faster than the messenger could see. The machine crouched low, shifting into a tank position, just as bombardments of rockets hit its metal shell. The red soldier scoffed, and swooped away as the machine fired a laser at him.

"He's tougher than we thought, desu," the dark-skinned soldier said seriously. He grabbed the messenger by the arm. "Hey, Giroro! Cover me! Come with me," he said to the messenger, "I'll take you back to base---"

At that the machine's head whirled toward their direction. It beeped wildly and shot a giant beam at them. The messenger cried out, but he didn't have to worry. The dark-skinned Keron let loose a beam of his own, hitting the machine's head-on.

The red Keron flew by, carrying a strange sword, and slashed at the machine's arm. With a painful creak the arm fell off, causing a miniature whirlwind of sand as it landed. The machine paid no attention and intensified its attack. The dark-skinned Keron stood his ground, eyes growing wider as he matched the laser's power.

"Ku ku ku ku… is it really that difficult?"

The messenger saw a yellow floater shimmer into view, with a matching yellow Keron on it. He held up something the messenger couldn't see and chuckled, "Ku ku ku ku... I press!"

A giant circular object descended from the floater and soon the air hummed with a strange energy. The machine was suddenly jerked upwards by some invisible force, tipping it over. It roared, its voice eerie and metallic. The yellow soldier only giggled to himself and zipped away. The messenger watched in awe as the red Keron flew near the machine, tossed a small object at it, and flew off.

"Cover your ears," the dark-skinned solider advised cheerfully.

Ten seconds later, the machine exploded in a brilliant burst of fire and metal. The red and yellow Keron landed, looking down at the messenger. He gulped.

"Mission accomplished," the red soldier said.

The messenger looked around him, blinking rapidly, his mind scrambling for words. "Thank you for saving me!" The sentence burst out in a rush of gratitude. Embarrassed, he looked down and stammered, "U-uh, I hope you don't mind me asking, but wh-which Platoon are you?"

"That's not a problem, desu!" the dark-skinned soldier said. "We're the--"

"Waaaaaaaaiiiiit!"

The messenger felt something hit against his side and fell on his back from the force of the impact. He lay there, his mind whirling along with the world, hearing through a dizzy haze shouts of surprise and anger, and someone saying sheepishly, "Gero gero gero... is it already over?"

-=-=-=-=-=-=-

Giroro and Keroro were arguing again when Tamama came down to the single room they slept in. Kururu sat patiently in the corner, chuckling to himself every few seconds as the two shouted at each other. The twisted genius glanced at Tamama as he sat next to him. "Good timing, Tamama. The fireworks are beginning, ku ku ku..."

"What took you so long?" demanded Giroro.

"There's no need to get mad about it!" Keroro waved a dismissive hand. "I was just... distracted by something of greater importance."

"You idiot! What could be more important than the mission?"

"Hey, hey, look, everything went smoothly, right? You guys took down the rebel robot without a hitch, and you managed to get the messenger out without a scratch!"

"The messenger did leave unharmed... until you hit him," Kururu added in, hiding another laugh behind his hand. "I say that he got a pretty nasty concussion..."

"I'm sure he'll be fine!" Keroro gave an impatient sigh, arms folded across his chest. "Look, everyone, I'm the leader. And as the leader, I say that we did a pretty good job, so we should just drop it--"

"'We?'" Giroro's voice was low, dangerous.

Keroro pretend to check a watch. "Oh, look at the time, gero gero," he said in a sing-song voice. "I have a meeting to go to. Catch you all later!"

"Don't you--!"

It was too late. Keroro had flounced out of the room, the door had slammed behind him.

Tamama sighed. "You shouldn't pick on him so much, desu," he said disapprovingly. "Gunso-san does try to be a good leader."

"He obviously doesn't try hard enough," Giroro snapped back. The battle-scarred warrior leaned back on one of the bunk bed's posts scowled. Kururu chuckled to himself once more.

"You'd complain either way, Giroro," Kururu said. "That's all you've been doing, anyway since we've come back to Keron, ku ku ku ku..."

Tamama gave a sideways look at Kururu. It might have been his imagination, but Kururu's laugh had sounded a bit strange, almost sad. He blinked and shook his head.

"I complain with good reason," Giroro answered gruffly.

"I beg to differ."

Tamama slid off the ragged mattress and climbed up the ladder, onto his bed. Kururu 'harumphed' to himself, while Giroro gave him a curious look.

Tamama slid out a small bag from his pillow and took out a small photo frame from it, looking longingly at the picture inside of it. It was a simple photo, with him sitting there on a blue-haired Pekopanjin's lap, potato chip back in his hands, big big smile on his tadpole face. The Pekopanjin was smiling too, in a small and reserved way. The picture was old, and the colors had faded a bit from age.

"I miss Momo-chii," he said quietly. He turned around, said louder, "I miss Pekopan."

Silence fell in the room. After a lengthy pause, Giroro cleared his throat and said, "Keron's your homeworld."

"It doesn't matter, desu," Tamama said miserably.

"Ku ku ku ku. Very interesting." Kururu stood up, tapping his fingers against one another. "Well, dinner should be ready soon. Heard that the chef was preparing curry rice for once... ku ku ku..." The yellow Keron strolled out of the room, closely followed by Giroro. Giroro paused, though, when he was halfway out the door and glanced at Tamama.

"Are you coming?"

Tamama shook his head. Giroro nodded knowingly and left.

He sat there, feeling the edges of the photo frame. Ten years. It was hard to believe that much time had passed. Damn it, it was a whole decade. Tamama stared at the rough ceiling above him. Their base was stationed underground in order to protect themselves from the dryness and from being located easily by the enemy. It felt too confined though, too small. Tamama closed his eyes and knew that he would kill to have a decent bag of sweets.

"Corporal Tamama?"

Tamama snapped up at the sound of Keroro's voice and spun around, doing a neat salute. "Yes, Gunso-san?" he said.

Keroro rubbed the back of his head. "There's a problem, Tamama."

Tamama tilted his head. "Problem? What kind of problem, desu?"

Keroro coughed into his fist. And then he coughed again. And again. "Well," he said after much coughing. "Can I trust you?"

"Of course you can, Gunso, desu!"

Keroro rubbed his hands together. "Gero gero gero... good," he whispered eerily. "Good... gero gero gero..." He sharply turned on his heel and began to march down the corridor. Tamama blinked, jumped off his bed, and quickly followed his leader.

Platoon Leaders had their own bedrooms. It was something that was resented by most lower officers, but there was nothing that could be done about it. Keroro's door was adorned with a star, just like it had been when he had been living in the Hinata's household. Keroro muttered darkly to himself as he unlocked the door.

"Gunso?" Tamama ventured to ask.

"Yes, Corporal Tamama?"

"Do you miss Pe--"

"Ta-da!" Keroro exclaimed proudly, cutting off the dark-skinned Keron. He kicked open the door and skipped in, humming a happy tune to himself.

Tamama gave a small sigh and followed him.

The room was well-furnished, with a humidifier in the corner that was currently turned off. The shelves were adorned with all kinds of books, and there was a small hologram radio for communications. Keroro approached the bookshelf and plucked several books off. He set them down on the table and said, "Okay, Tamama, I need your help with a very important project. You think you can do it?"

Tamama blinked again. He looked down at the books, confused. _Battle Tactics of the Ancient Keron Centuries_, said one. _Desert Battle Strategies for Dummies_, said another. Suddenly, everything clicked.

Of course! Gunso-san was preparing another brilliant plan for them to execute! With a humongous smile, Tamama saluted and said cheerily, "Yes, Gunso-san, desu!"

"Gero gero gero... that's good. Now behold!"

Keroro slammed open a book, took out a plastic frame, blew the dust off, and held it up. "Here it is!"

Tamama stared at it. It was white, with some black, and... wait!

"Gunso, aren't those Gunpla pieces...?" Tamama asked, his enthusiasm drenched.

"Of course they are, Corporal," Keroro said. "I need you to help me build them. I have two sets hidden in here, and it should only take an hour or so to build them, gero."

Ridiculous. Tamama looked away, biting his lower lip. He caught his reflection in the mirror, and stared at it in disbelief. Was that really him? His tadpole-like face was gone, with only the big, childish eyes of his childhood remaining.

Keroro poked him in the arm. "Tamama? Are you going to help me?"

Tamama looked at him, then forced himself to nod. "Okay, desu," he said. "Where's the pliers?"

"Yahoo!" Keroro exclaimed happily. "They're right there, top drawer of that cabinet the hologram is sitting on, de arimasu."

Tamama hid yet another disappointed sigh as he shuffled to get the pliers. Just as he opened a drawer, though, the room went dark and a deafening burst of static filled the air. Tamama jumped back, hands slapped over his ears, and he was dimly aware of Keroro doing the same. The hologram of Keron fizzled and dissipated, revealing a shadowed figure instead.

Tamama recognized him in an instant. It was the General.

"SERGEANT MAJOR KERORO? PLATOON LEADER OF THE KERORO PLATOON?" bellowed the General

Keroro meekly opened an eye. "Um, that's me?"

"GOOD," the General shouted. "I SEE THAT YOU ARE SOMEWHAT BUSY. VERY GOOD. I HAVE A NEW MISSION FOR YOU, SERGEANT."

Keroro nervously laughed. "What would that be, sir?"

The General told them. Tamama watched as Keroro's jaw dropped.

"That can't be right, desu!" Tamama argued.

"I AM RIGHT," the General roared. "AND YOU WILL NOT ARGUE WITH ME ON THIS MATTER! CONTACT ME ONCE YOU HAVE GATHERED YOUR PLATOON AT THE HANGER BAY."

The hologram switched off. Tamama looked at the dumbstruck Keroro.

"Oh, this is turning out to be a bad day," the green Keron muttered, and stumbled out the door.


End file.
